Mirror Image
by tec4cleveland
Summary: One of the stories that launched Prequel. A scavenger with an uncanny resemblance to Caje causes him trouble with the Germans as Caje tries to return with the film he and Pascow retrieved in "Prequel".
1. Chapter 1

**MIRROR IMAGE  
** _Chapter 1_

Etienne Devereux ignored the war, except as he could personally gain from it. Cutting wood was a fool's game, he thought; no one was going to rebuild when the war could destroy it all again tomorrow. People picked up their own firewood. As for furniture, who had money to pay for it? So he waited as the Allies fought the Germans, and then he scavenged from the dead, stealing guns, ammunition, clothing and anything else he could profit from. He had even taken some of the clothing for himself. _It is a risk, possibly being mistaken for a soldier by the wrong side_ , Etienne thought, _but then so is starving or dying of exposure._ Ainsi soit-il. i

He inspected the jacket he'd taken from the pack of an American _soldat_. It would do for this winter.

He'd nearly been caught twice, once by Germans and once by outraged British troops who pursued him as far into the forest they dared. But he had worked and played here since childhood, for roughly thirty years. The scavenger knew byways and paths that no one else had yet seen. Unless he caught a bullet, he was safe.

Devereux vacillated between returning to his cabin or towards the shooting he had heard earlier to search for any pickings. To go home meant listening to the whining of his brat. He shrugged. _Then I will go see what I can find. Most likely Boche, since they are retreating_. It would not be as good as the better-off Americans, Canadians or British, but there were always souvenirs, and the Allied soldiers would buy them.

He pulled his beret from his shoulder and put it on, and adjusted his eyepatch. _Yes, war is a good thing_ , he decided, as he limped confidently through the forest.

xxx

Caje staggered in the mud; it had finally stopped raining, but the going was treacherous and his injured leg was no help. It was hard to believe that only a little over two hours ago, he had been sitting with his squad mates, admonishing them to rest. _Next time, take your own advice!_ He'd lost a lot of blood and felt as if he'd been running for days. He blinked; the field bandage he had over his eye and around his head was sodden. The scout pressed it against his forehead, trying to drain some of the moisture out, and was rewarded with more blurred vision, as the water poured into his good eye.

Hanley had sent him and Pascow, the Second Squad scout, out to retrieve film and the pilot, if he was still alive, from a downed American spy plane. Caje had survived, at the cost of Pascow's life. It was not the first time it had happened, but he thought he would never adjust to the idea that he was alive only because someone else died helping him. Sarge would tell him that it happened, and that he had to put it aside and go on. He had always done so, but he was afraid that one day he would go back and find the things he put aside too much for him to bear.

The forest was thinning ahead. Caje mentally examined Hanley's map. He thought he might not be far from a road that would take him back to the village he'd recently left and the platoon CP. He entered the clearing, only to be challenged by the voice of a child.

[ Papa? ]

Lightheaded, he spun around and nearly fell. There was a girl of about seven staring at him. Caje shook his head.

[ No. Not your father. ]

[ But you look like my papa! He went out today to find things and he hasn't come back.]

She looked down sadly. [ Did you see someone who looked like you? ]

Caje was ready to leave. [ I'm sorry. I didn't see anyone. I have to go. ] He stopped as he heard the sound of voices – German voices – between him and the road. _I'm so tired – if only I could_ _think_ _!_

The little girl took his hand. [ Come with me. I will hide you from the _Boche_. I will tell them you are my papa. ]

For a second, Caje hesitated. Then he realized that in his current condition, he couldn't outrun this little girl, much less a German squad. He nodded. [ Very well, let's go. ]

Xxx

Devereux had been right. There were remnants of a unit of Germans; they had probably been at platoon strength when they started out. He began rummaging through the packs and pockets of the dead, mostly looking for tobacco, for which he had a ready market, with people too desperate for it to ask any questions. Further, this had been an SS unit, so there would likely be decorated SS '33 and '36 daggers, which fetched a big price from Allied soldiers.

There was a groan from one of the soldiers near him. Alarmed, he looked for the _Boche_ who had made the sound. Survivors were not good - survivors meant that other troops would be coming for them.

 _There!_ He spotted a young German, no more than seventeen, perhaps; he was badly wounded. The soldier looked at him in bewilderment and fear. _He must think I am Maquis, here to dispose of him. Well, he's half-right_. He took one of the daggers he'd found and advanced on the young man, who struggled to back away, correctly reading his death sentence in the other's eyes.

The scavenger sharply drew the dagger across the German's throat and turned his back on his death throes, unconcerned. He didn't see the _Boche_ squad come into the clearing until they began to fire at him. He turned tail and ran as best he could, taking advantage of his intimate knowledge of the forest to escape, at least for now.

But _Oberleutnant_ Franz Krieger had seen and marked him, seen what he had done to a helpless man. Krieger had seen this scavenger before. He had no intention of letting him escape this time. [ Advance! His home cannot be far. A snake like that will surely go to ground. Move! ]

xxx

Caje knew he was tired and unwell, but when they arrived at the little girl's home, he thought he must be worse than he realized. Walking into the cabin was like entering a bizarre, oddly-stocked PX; there were uniform parts everywhere, packages of cigarettes, chocolate bars, pouches and ration packs. A smoldering anger replaced the Cajun's confusion, as he realized what the source of all this must be. He turned on the little girl.

[ Where does this come from? ]

[ Papa finds it. ]

[ Finds it? Finds it! Where? ]

She shrugged. [ I don't know. He goes out for hours and sometimes days and brings things back. ]

[ Your father is only one step better than a grave robber! ] Caje growled.

For a moment, she clearly didn't understand. Then, the little girl looked around at the clothes and other items as if she'd never seen them before, horror slowly dawning in her eyes.

[ Papa takes these things from dead soldiers? ]

Slowly, Caje realized that the little girl had no idea of where her father was getting the items crowding the cabin; he was horrified. He hadn't meant to take his anger out on her. _Cette pauvre petite –_ _what did I do?_

She looked at the scout with eyes filled with tears. [ I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't know! ]

He knelt by her and gently hugged her to him. [ It's all right. It's not your fault. I shouldn't have yelled at you. ]

She pulled away and nodded sadly. She looked him in the face. [ You look just like Papa, but you aren't like him at all, are you? ]

Caje closed his eyes and shook his head. That was a mistake - it reminded him that the area around his eye was injured and that he had a nasty headache.

[ The _Boche_ will come soon! ] She supported him as best she could while he struggled to his feet. [ Go in here. ] She indicated the small room to one side of the cabin. [ You should change into Papa's things. You have blood on you. And your gun! Hurry! ]

She halted and turned back to him, with a sudden smile, charming for such a young girl. [ _Monsieur_ , I think if you will pretend to be my father, you should know my name. ]

[ Yes, that would be a good idea. ] Caje replied dryly.

[ I am Amélie Devereux. ]

[ My name is Paul LeMay, but my friends call me Caje. ]

i So be it


	2. Chapter 2

**MIRROR IMAGE**

 _Chapter 2_

Krieger's men were floundering in the dense forest. The rain had stopped, but the going was still difficult on the sodden, muddy ground. He called a halt. They wouldn't find the murdering scavenger if they got lost, and right now, he wasn't certain which way to go.

He knelt in the driest place he could find. Signaling _Feldwebel_ Muller, his ablest man, he pulled out his map for review.

[ Where would you say we are? I have lost my way in this _verdammt_ forest, although I hate to admit it. ] The two of them exchanged an amused glance; they went back a long way, and felt safe enough with one another to say things they would never say to anyone else.

[ Impossible, _Herr Oberleutnant_. German soldiers are incapable of getting lost! The Führer said so! ] Muller murmured so that only Krieger could hear, as he knelt down next to the officer.

Krieger snorted and directed Muller to the map. [ Where, Willi? ]

[ Here, I believe. ] He pointed at a spot near a clearing. [ Sir, I have heard of a man, supposedly a woodcutter, who has things for sale – at a price. This could be the one we're pursuing. ]

Krieger eyed Muller. [ I wonder … do you remember how Kleinhanz "lost" his knife, but never seemed to be short of American cigarettes, when we advanced through here two weeks ago? ]

Muller nodded. [ Kleinhanz! _Kommen sie hier! Schnell! ]_

Kleinhanz hurried over and snapped to attention. [ _Jawohl_ , _Feldwebel_! ]

Krieger stood and circled Kleinhanz. [ _Gemeiner_ , I seem to recall you had a mishap where you … _lost_ … your knife recently. _Nicht wahr_? ]

Kleinhanz swallowed hard. [ _Ja_ , _Herr Oberleutnant._ ]

[ Tsk, tsk. Quite clumsy of you. Yet somehow you never seemed to run short of American cigarettes. ] He looked at Muller. [ _Feldwebel_ , did we receive a consignment of cigarettes of which you did not inform me? ]

[ Why no, _Herr Oberleutnant_. I thought perhaps _you_ had generously supplied the men without _my_ knowledge. ]

Fear showed in Kleinhanz' eyes now. It was never a good thing when the _Feldwebel_ and the _Oberleutnant_ teamed up. [ _Bitte_ , _Herr Oberleutnant._ If I could speak … ]

Krieger raised an eyebrow. [ Oh, _Gemeiner_ , please do. ]

[ There was a soldier in the Twenty-First Panzer; he told me – told me of this man … ]

[ A man who could provide cigarettes, perhaps in exchange for a … knife? ] Kleinhanz nodded shakily. [ Suppose I wished to find this man, _Gemeiner_? Where would I go? ]

The young soldier didn't move for a moment.

[ Ah, yes. Kleinhanz, at ease. ]

The _Gemeiner_ relaxed – a little. He looked at Krieger's map, and pointed with a shaking hand to a spot not far from the other side of the clearing. [ This man, _Herr Oberleutnant_ , his name is Devereux. He is the man we saw before, the man with the eyepatch, limping. ] The information spilled from Kleinhanz, almost involuntarily.

[ Indeed? ] There was no humor in Krieger's eyes now. [ Muller, get the men moving. I find myself wishing very much to purchase something from this Devereux. ] _His life, for instance_. He turned to Kleinhanz. [ _Gemeiner_ , if I did not need every man, I would shoot you now, where you stand. Move! ]

xxx

Caje came out from the side room, adjusting the eyepatch he'd found, in hopes it would hide the injury to his eye – although he supposed with wry amusement that a woodcutter might run afoul of splinters from time to time. The clothing he'd found in the room fit him perfectly. He'd found a wedding photo of this Devereux. The two of them could have been twins.

Amélie sighed with relief. [ You are ready? ]

[ What do I do? ]

[ Papa never says anything. The soldiers come in and look around and find what they want. When they pay you, if it isn't enough, you tell them. That's all. ]

Caje nodded curtly. [ I understand. ] He walked to the door of the cabin and looked out, Amélie at his side. [ Do many people come? ]

Amélie nodded. [ Sometimes both _Boche_ and Allies. They never fight here, though. ] She cocked her head in thought. [ It's as if they don't see one another. ]

Caje nodded and went back into the cabin.

xxx

Devereux halted in the woods where he could see his home. He was sure the Germans he'd seen back at the battle site had not stopped chasing him. It made no sense to rush into his _maison_ until he was sure it was safe. What he saw shocked him.

 _Who is this man?_ His head spun. Amélie was at the other man's side, talking to him. _Who is this mirror image of me? C'est impossible!_

A moment's thought and he realized that this was a gift, although not from God. Etienne Devereux had sold his soul to the devil a long time ago; he knew that. _Very well, a gift from_ le diable _, then_. _The Germans will see this man and take their justice on him and I will be home and safe._ That taking this justice might include harming Amélie didn't concern him at all. He saw the other man wasn't wearing a beret, and he removed his and stuffed it in his pocket.

 _All of my problems solved at once. Bien._ Devereux moved back into the woods, parallel to the road ahead.

xxx

A few moments later, a pair of German soldiers entered. One of them was larger than Littlejohn, Caje thought. They must have come to the cabin before, as they went straight to a shelf where there were several packs of Lucky Strikes. _I could use one of those myself_. But he didn't know if Devereux smoked, and since these soldiers seemed to know the man, he didn't want to do anything uncharacteristic.

The soldier who had taken the cigarettes eyed him. [ Still with the silent treatment, eh, Devereux? ] The man's French was fluent enough, if not idiomatic. [ Well, here. ] He tossed a small pouch to Caje, who caught it one-handed.

It felt damp, and when he turned it over, the scout realized that one side of it was covered in blood.

The Kraut seemed amused at "Devereux's" revulsion. [ I didn't think you'd mind some blood money, eh, Devereux? Isn't that what you deal in? ] He and his comrade laughed loudly as they turned and walked out of the cabin.

Caje looked at the pouch in his hand for a long moment. Slowly, he loosened the drawstring and took out the money. It was U.S. Army scrip. He felt something else in the bottom of the pouch, and reached in with two fingers to fish it out. It was a pendant; with a jolt, he recognized it as a Star of David, hung on a delicate silver chain. Pascow. It had to be his. There was little fighting in this area now – Caje couldn't believe in a coincidence that there were two Jewish soldiers who had been killed today. In sudden anger, he jammed the necklace and money into the pouch and threw it into the corner of the room with every ounce of strength he possessed. Then he staggered over to sit on the only piece of furniture not covered by Devereux's macabre merchandise, put his face in his hands, and, from a pain which overwhelmed any shame, wept.


	3. Chapter 3

**MIRROR IMAGE**

 _Chapter 3_

Caje rubbed his face clear of tears. He realized Amélie was beside him, concern on her face, gently stroking his hair, unsure of how else to comfort him.

[ _Je vous remercie, Amélie_. ] He brushed her hair back from her face gently. [ I am glad you helped me. But I must go. ]

[ You are still not well, _Monsieur_ Caje. ]

He shrugged. [ Perhaps not, but I have something important with me that I must take back. ]

Amélie appeared to make a decision. [ Then I will go with you. ]

[ No, Amélie. I don't want you to get hurt. ]

[ _Monsieur_ Caje, you could pass out. Wouldn't you get hurt if the _Boche_ find you and this important thing? ]

Caje gave in. [ Has anyone ever told you that you are very smart for a little girl? ]

Amélie smiled shyly. [ _Non_ , _Monsieur_ Caje. Never. ]

[ Well, they should. ] He smiled back.

The scout retrieved his Garand from under Devereux's bed. He left his uniform; it was ruined anyway. He kept his beret and Pascow's tags, and retrieved the little pouch the German soldier had paid for the cigarettes with. Caje removed the Star of David pendant, and put his tags, Pascow's tags and the pendant into his beret.

[ Amélie, would you wear this for me? ] At the little girl's nod, he put it on her head and adjusted it. With a wrench, he was reminded of another little girl who had worn the beret. i _Is there no end to the blood I'm going to have to wash off my hands when this is all over?_

[ _Monsieur_ Caje? ]

[ It's all right, Amélie. ] He took a last look around Devereux's cabin. There was one more thing he needed before they started out.

xxx

Krieger and his squad arrived at Devereux's cabin shortly after Caje and Amélie departed. Muller took two men and burst into the cabin. They came out very quickly.

[ It's clean, _Oberleutnant_. He's flown. ]

[ He has a daughter. ] This was Kleinhanz.

Muller and Krieger exchanged a look; Muller shook his head. [ No one, _Oberleutnant_. ]

[ Then we continue. Reinhart, Dietrich, look for tracks. The man limps, and he is with a child. They cannot be that hard to find, especially after all the rain today. ] He turned back to Muller. [ Burn it all down, _Feldwebel_ , and catch up with us once the fire has begun. ]

[ _Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant._ ]

Dietrich came around the side of the cabin.

[ This way, _Herr Oberleutnant!_ ]

Krieger waved his men on. He wondered where Devereux was going - and why he would take the child with him. He seemed to be heading towards the Americans.

[ _Raus_ , _schnell!_ We must catch this man before we run into the American lines! ]

The Germans ran, Dietrich pointing the way. After a brief time, Dietrich waved his hand to signal a halt and took his rifle, prepared to shoot. He aimed carefully and fired at the figure in the distance.

[ Did you hit him, Dietrich? ]

Dietrich strained to look. [ I don't think so, _Oberleutnant_. I still see movement. ]

[ Bad luck, Dietrich. ] The officer waved to the rest of his men. [ At least we know which way to go. ]

But Dietrich hadn't missed.

xxx

Just as Caje could see the road through the trees, he heard a shot from behind him. He felt a blow on his shoulder and looked down, disbelieving, at the blood staining his shirt.

[ _Monsieur_ Caje! _Non_! ] Amélie tried to help him as he stumbled to a tree and slid down to sit on the ground.

 _Who shot me? The Krauts are retreating!_ He had no sooner thought this than he realized his disguise might have backfired on him. _Devereux must have really burned someone_ , he thought, with grim humor. _And now they're after me because they think I'm him._

[ Amélie, you have to keep going. Remember what I told you about Littlejohn or Saunders. You must give that bag to them. The important thing is in it. ]

[ But if you stay here, the _Boche_ will kill you. ]

[ No, Amélie. I will hide. You must take that and find my friends. Give the bag to them. They will come and help me. Hurry! ]

xxx

Kirby, Littlejohn, Kirkbride and Billy were walking along the main road outside of the bivouac area. Whether or not they should have been was subject to debate. Kirby maintained that they were on their own time.

"And who said we can't take a walk if we want to?"

"With our guns and kit?" a dubious Billy asked.

"Well, we want to be prepared, right? Who knows, we might run into some Krauts or some such on our walk."

"Right," said Littlejohn. "I can't wait to explain this to Sarge. Or Hanley. You can go first."

"Just shut up and keep walkin', ya big oaf."

"Hush, all of ya." Kirkbride had stopped and was listening intently. For a moment, no one was sure what he was listening to, then they all heard it – light, quick footsteps, too quiet for an adult.

"Who's there?" Littlejohn challenged.

[ _S'il vous plaît ne pas me blesser_. ii]

"Where's Caje when you need him?" Billy muttered without thinking. The others frowned at him, and he winced. "Sorry."

"Come out, whoever you are," Kirby called. He turned to the others. "What's that word

Caje uses for 'friends'?"

"Amis." Kirkbride tossed back, still watchful.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it. _Amis_. We're _amis_!" Kirby called.

A small figure came out of the underbrush. It was a dusty little girl with a tearstreaked

face, carrying a medical bag and wearing –

"That's Caje's beret!"

"Stop it, Kirby. You're scaring her." Littlejohn carefully knelt down.

"Oh, yeah. Like you're gonna make her feel safe and secure."

"Shut up." He looked down at the little girl. She looked up at him and then surprised them all. "Leetlezhon?"

The big man smiled at her, the smile that always seemed to have a reassuring effect on people not named Kirby. "Yes. Wee. Leetlezh.- Littlejohn."

She handed him the medical bag. [ _Monsieur_ Caje. _Pour vous! Il est important!_ ]

He took it, confused, and opened it. "Hey, I think this is the film Hanley sent Caje and Pascow out for!"

The others crowded around.

"Well, don't let's stand here and stare at it! Billy, you got to take this back to Hanley right away."

Kirkbride indicated Amélie with his gun. "What are we going to do with her?"

Kirby squatted down next to the little girl. "Moosyer Caje?"

A tear trickled down the little girl's face. She pointed as though she had a gun and said "Boom!" and then grabbed her shoulder. [ _Aidez-le_! ]

"Where?" Littlejohn pointed back down the road. "There?"

She stopped him and pointed back down the road and a little to the left. [ _Aller de cette façon._ ]

Kirby thought for a second. "Kirkbride, you take her back quick like. We'll wait here. Bring Doc, too. Sounds like Caje is gonna need him."

xxx

Saunders and Hanley were staring at the field telephone as if they would be able to make it ring just by looking at it. When it finally buzzed, both men started.

"Red Rook to Checkmate King Two. Over."

"This is Checkmate King Two, Red Rook. Go ahead. Over."

"Arrived at Mousetrap, King Two. Over."

"Status of Cat One and Two, over."

"Curiosity got Cat Two. No sign of Cat One or Cheese. The hounds have been here, though, over."

Hanley rested the receiver against his forehead for a moment. _Pascow dead. No Caje. No film. Damn it._

"Roger, Red Rook. Come back in. Out."

"Roger, King Two. Out."

He hung up. For a long moment, neither he nor Saunders said anything. Just as Hanley was about to break the silence, Billy Nelson burst into the CP holding a medic's bag.

"Sir! We have the film."

"That's great! Where's Caje? What did he say happened?"

"Well, that's just it, sir. We don't … have … Caje."

"What?"

Billy began, but was interrupted by Kirkbride running into the tent, carrying Amélie.

"Who's this?"

"That's what I was trying to explain, sir. This little girl came up to Littlejohn on the road and gave him the film."

"Littlejohn? On WHAT road? And what were you doing on a road, any road, to begin with?"

 _I'm gonna kill Kirby._ "We thought we'd, uh, go for a walk, sir. That is, Kirkbride and me and Littlejohn and Kirby – "

Hanley waved him off wearily. "Never mind. I really don't want to know."

Kirkbride interrupted him. "Sir, with all due respect, this little girl found a way to let us know Caje is wounded. We need to get to him with Doc right away. She made it seem pretty serious."

That was all Sarge needed to hear. "Lieutenant, we can go out right now."

"Yes, we can. Kirkbride, go get Doc. Leave the little girl at the aid tent. Nelson, where are Kirby and Littlejohn?"

"Waiting for us on the road."

"Let's go, Saunders. We need to rescue our cat from the hounds."

xxx

Devereux heard the shot that wounded his 'twin' and smiled. _Good_ , _the Boche will think they have him and leave me alone. All the better_.

Then he heard German voices behind him, and he tried to decide which way to run. A shot rang out. He fell forward and felt the bullet groove his shoulder. He looked at the damage. _Messy, but hardly fatal._ Scrambling to his feet, he tried to double back and regain the safety of the forest he knew so well.

He hadn't gone ten feet when he ran into one of the German troops who were chasing him. Resigned, he raised his hands. Devereux was sure he could work his way out of this. After all, he was good at bargaining, wasn't he? And didn't every man have his price? He turned back toward the road, followed by the German soldier.

xxx

Caje struggled to his feet. He could hear Krauts all through the trees behind him; he needed to find a place to hide, to give Amélie time to get away. He wasn't under any illusion that he would be able to stay hidden. Whatever Devereux had done to make these soldiers angry with him, it must have been pretty bad. It didn't sound as though they were ready to give up.

He lifted the Garand in his good hand and put it as high into the tree branches as he could reach. There was no longer any question of carrying it. He had all he could do to carry himself.

The scout had carefully moved around a small stand of trees when he heard a triumphant shout from a German soldier somewhere behind him and felt a gun poke him in the back. With a sigh, he raised his hands as far as his wound would allow and started in the direction of the road.

i "No Trumpets, No Drums"

ii Please don't hurt me!


	4. Chapter 4

**Mirror Image**  
 _Chapter 4_

Krieger had scattered his men through the woods just this side of the road, hoping the dragnet would find Devereux.

With satisfaction, he heard Kleinhanz call. [ I have him, _Oberleutnant! ]_

[ Bring him out, _Gemeiner_! ]

The German officer paced, waiting for Kleinhanz to bring the scavenger out of the woods. He had only one intention before catching up with the rest of his battalion: to deal out German justice. He turned to the rest of his men. [ We must obey the forms, gentlemen. Had you all seen what this man, Devereux, did to a helpless German soldier? ]

[ _Ja_! ] The squad responded, almost in unison.

Muller spoke harshly. [ This scavenger deserves whatever you do to him, _Oberleutnant_. There is not a man here who will object. ] His look around the squad indicated _you had better not_. If there was any dissent, no one dared express it.

Krieger nodded with satisfaction as Kleinhanz brought the man out, hands in the air, from the woods.

xxx

The squad had no sooner hit the top of the rise than Kirkbride came back from point. "There! Sarge, look!"

Down the hill, a German patrol was spread out. An officer who appeared to be in charge came to the left side of the road, where a dark haired man, looking unsettlingly familiar in mixed civilian and military clothing, came out of the trees, hands raised, followed by a Kraut soldier holding a rifle on him. He was wounded in his shoulder, if the blood on his clothing was any indication. Hanley pulled his binoculars from his jacket and focused on the scene below.

"My God." He breathed. "It's Caje!"

Sarge snatched the binoculars from Hanley.

The squad watched in horror as the German officer walked behind the man and knocked him to his knees. The officer grabbed his victim's chin and raised it – and cut his throat in one swift, economical move.

Saunders felt, rather than saw, Kirby drop to his knees in shock, heard Doc's strangled cry and Billy's rush to the side of the road, followed by the sound of retching. Hanley and Kirkbride were immobile from disbelief. He realized he had started to run down the road and was being forcibly restrained by a grim Littlejohn. "No, Sarge," the big man said roughly, "it won't help if you get yourself killed, too."

"Let him go." The squad looked at Hanley, stunned. "We're going. We're all going."

First Squad moved as quickly as they ever had, nearly running through the trees on the side of the road until they were in range of the German patrol. "Fire! " Hanley called, voice harsh with emotion. Caught off-guard, Krieger and his men fell in a hail of gunfire from Saunders' Thompson, Kirby's BAR, Littlejohn's, Billy's and Kirkbride's Garands M1s and Hanley's carbine. They had avenged their friend, their brother, but Saunders wondered if anything would make them feel right again.

xxx

Light began to filter through Caje's uncovered eye, and a hand was gently, but firmly, patting his face.

[ _Monsieur soldat,_ you must wake up. Wake up, G.I. ]

Caje shuddered awake and rose to a sitting position with the help of the elderly man who was squatting near him, holding a rifle. The pain from his shoulder was a constant thudding pressure, and he nearly closed his eyes and lay down again.

[ _Qui êtes-vous? ]_

[ I am Maquis, G.I. My name is Rene Alphard. I have been pursuing you for the whole day, it seems, since your friend was killed. ]

[ Oh. ]

[ I saw that you were wounded and needed help, but I lost you for a while and I didn't catch up with you again until just now. I tapped you on the back with my rifle, but I didn't expect you to pass out. ]

[ Can you help me back to my lines? ]

[ Not necessary, _monsieur_. Some of your friends have come to you. ] He started to move away, and Caje stopped him.

[ Wait. What has happened? I thought the Krauts were retreating. Has the fighting moved here? ]

[ _Non_. Well, perhaps a small bit of it. The _Boche_ have killed Devereux. ] He shrugged. [ No great loss – no loss at all, really. But I think perhaps your friends assume it was you who was killed. They wiped out the _Boche_ patrol completely and with great anger. I must go to them for help for you, and tell them what has happened, before they leave. ]

Caje's hand slid off the old man's arm; he had passed out again.

xxx

Saunders stood like a statue in the middle of the squad's activity. Littlejohn had taken out his rain cape and put it over - . He couldn't think any further than that. It wasn't just that he relied on Caje and liked him, or even that they'd been together since Omaha Beach. It was _how_ he died, murdered, for all intents and purposes. He just couldn't comprehend it.

Hanley was standing apart, shoulders slumped. Saunders saw that he was studiously avoiding looking at the squad, and felt a flicker of resentment. _I didn't like this from the beginning_.

As if reading Saunders' mind, Hanley turned to look at him. A small spark of mutual anger flew between them and might have burst into flame - when they were interrupted.

[ G.I.s! ]

Sarge and the Lieutenant turned to look at an elderly Frenchman who had stepped out of the woods. Littlejohn and Billy, arrested in the act of cutting poles for a litter to take the body back, dropped what they were doing and grabbed their rifles.

[ _Non_! ] The old man put his hands out in supplication.

[ That is not your friend! He is here! ]. He pointed to the woods, where Caje lay.

"I'm not in the mood for this", Hanley growled. He started towards the Frenchman. Saunders grabbed the Lieutenant's arm to stop him.

The Maquis walked over to the body and waved his hands over it, looking for all the world like an umpire calling a runner safe. [ This is NOT your friend! ] He looked at the squad one at a time, and when he saw Doc's helmet, he pulled on the medic's sleeve and pointed to the woods. [ He is there! He needs help! ]

Doc looked at Saunders and Hanley. "Sarge, I think he's sayin' –"

Sarge saw his own hope mirrored in Doc's eyes and nodded. "I think so, too. Let's go, Doc."

The two of them followed the elderly man as quickly as they could. When they recognized the huddled figure on the ground under the tree, Doc started praying. "Oh, Lord. Thank You, God, thank You …" He knelt beside the unconscious man and started checking him over.

Saunders dropped on the other side of Caje with a nearly overwhelming sense of relief. He stood back up and bellowed through cupped hands. "You guys! IT'S CAJE! It's really Caje!"

xxx

Doc stood by Caje's bed in the aid tent. The scout hadn't returned to consciousness since he was brought in. It was mostly blood loss - the shoulder wound was a through and through and the calf wound only a graze. The medic was concerned about Caje's eye, though, and recommended he be moved to Battalion for evaluation after he was stable.

The guys in the squad had dropped by as their duties allowed, talking to him, hoping it would help. Doc had his doubts. He didn't know what had happened to Pascow, but he remembered the scout had been acting squad leader once before and a man had died saving his life. Caje had taken it hard. He thought it was possible that it had happened again, and if it had, it might be a while before Caje came back to join them.

"Doc?"

A harsh whisper jolted Doc from his thoughts. "Yeah, Caje. I'm here."

"Water?"

Doc carefully raised him up to drink. "Here ya go."

"Am I back?"

"You're back, Caje." He squeezed the scout's good shoulder. "Just rest. Looks like you'll get some time back at Battalion."

Caje wasn't listening. He stirred restlessly. "Doc, Pascow. He stayed back so I could get away with the film. He died and it was my fault. I shouldn't have left him."

Doc looked his squad mate straight in the eye. "I don't believe it. If I know anything about you, it's that you'd never run out on one of us unless there was no choice or we made you do it – likely at gunpoint. You keep on insistin' on doing things you shouldn't. Heck, half the time I can't even get you to admit you're wounded. I'm not sayin' you're perfect, Caje, but you're no coward either."

"Hanley should never have put me in charge."

Doc shook his head, but Caje didn't see it; he was unconscious again.

xxx

The second time Caje awoke, it was to find a somber Lieutenant Hanley standing by his cot.

"Lieutenant."

"LeMay." Hanley sighed. "We thought the German officer murdered you. Who did he kill? Do you know?"

The Cajun nodded. "He was a scavenger, taking things from the dead after battles, or wherever he found them. His cabin was full of all kinds of things, German and Allied. I don't know what he did to the Krauts to make them want to chase and kill him, but I wouldn't be surprised to find out he was stealing from a dead soldier or finished off a wounded one and they saw it." Caje tried to raise up, but the movement made him dizzy and he fell back on the cot. For a moment, he saw two Hanleys.

"Easy, Private." The Lieutenant paused. "We got the film back to S2. I wanted you to know." He hesitated. "We brought Pascow back, too."

Caje stiffened and looked away from the officer.

"LeMay. Caje. " Hanley stopped to collect his thoughts. "Look, I never went through OTC. All I know is what I've learned on the line. You can only count on two things up here: One, men, even men you know and like, are going to die. And two, there's nothing you can do about it. Most of the time it's out of your hands. That goes double when you're in charge. We have our orders, and we pass them on. Some of those orders, and the choices we make – well … " He spread his hands helplessly.

Caje nodded briefly.

"Forgive yourself, Private." Hanley tried for a lighter tone. "That's an order."

"Yes, sir."

The lieutenant looked at Caje for a moment, troubled. Then he turned and left the Cajun to his thoughts.

xxx

"Caje." When the scout looked up, he saw there were two men by his bed. He realized they were Saunders and Levine, the sergeant of Second Squad – Pascow's sergeant.

"LeMay. Good to see you're awake."

"Sergeant Levine."

"They gave me Pascow's tags and the necklace. Thank you for getting them back. I'm guessing there's a story there?"

"Yes, a story. And a promise."

"I'd like to hear it, if you feel up to it."

Levine let Caje talk himself out; he listened with no sign of judgment. When he stood to leave, he looked at the Cajun.

"LeMay – Caje. You did right. You have to let it go. I knew Pascow well. He chose what happened and there's no blame attached."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

Levine nodded and left.

Sarge looked down at Caje shrewdly. "You don't believe him, do you?"

After a moment, Caje shook his head silently, with a stubborn look on his face Saunders knew all too well.

"I heard what you told him. You tried to get Pascow back with the film, and it didn't work. He couldn't get away and he came back to help you. You were willing to die in order for him to live – why not the other way around? Do you think so little of yourself that the sacrifice has to be all on your side?"

The Cajun didn't answer and Saunders tried again.

"I used to think it was a good thing that you could still feel. You get a lot of the dirty jobs in this squad – I've lost count of the number of Krauts you've had to take out with your bare hands, never mind all the other stuff. But we've been through this before. All that matters is what's here and now, the squad, the mission. If you try to carry anything else along, pretty soon you'll have more than you can handle. And then, one day, you're just going to explode. You won't be any good to anyone, including yourself." Saunders looked at his friend and comrade. "I'll see you when you get back from Battalion. Get well, Caje."

xxx

"Caje, the ambulance from Battalion's here," Doc said. "Before you go, there's someone here who wants to see you."

[ _Bonjour_ , _Monsieur_ Caje. ]

Doc stepped aside; Amélie was behind him.

[ Amélie! You are all right. ]

The medic could see his squad mate's relief.

[ _Oui_ , _Monsieur_ Caje! I gave Leetlezhon the important thing. ], she said proudly.

Caje grinned. [ _Merci, ma petite. ]_

[ _De rien._ I will be going to live with the nuns. Sister Marie Therese has come to get me today. ]

[ That's nice, _cherie_. You must be a good girl for them. ]

Her smile was mischievous. [ I will try, _Monsieur_ Caje. ] She grew serious, and stepped close to the bed. She brushed the hair back from his forehead and kissed him.

[ You are a good man. I wish you _had_ been my papa. ]

Moved, Caje hugged her to him as best he could with his good arm. [ Thank you, _ma petite_. That's a very nice thing for you to say. ]

She shrugged. [ It's very true. ]

[ _Au revoir_ , Amélie Devereux. ]

Amélie drew herself up into a good imitation of adult dignity. [ _Non_ , _Monsieur_ Caje. I do not want to be Amélie Devereux any more. I would be ashamed of it. ]

Doc watched her pause dramatically and he smiled to himself. He had heard the argument between Amélie and the nun who had come to fetch her. He didn't speak French, but he figured out enough to know what the little girl was about to tell Caje.

[ From now on, they must call me Amélie LeMay – or I will not answer. ] She peered at the Cajun anxiously. [ You do not mind, _Monsieur_ Caje? ]

 _I never thought I'd see the day when Caje couldn't come up with_ _something_ _to say_ , Doc thought, amused. _I'd have sooner expected Kirby to give up griping about his dogs barkin', or hear Littlejohn start singin' Broadway show tunes._

[ I -. I -. ] The flustered soldier stopped and collected himself. [ No, Amélie, I do not mind. I'm honored. ]

[ _Bon! Au 'voir, Monsieur_ Caje. We will meet again, no? ]

Doc was relieved to see Caje laugh silently. [ _Oui_ , Amélie. We will meet again, when this war is over. ]

Amélie took Doc's hand and went with him, skipping. She stopped at the door to wave at Caje, blew a kiss to him and left.

Caje felt unexpectedly warmed by Amélie's affection. _I think I've been adopted. At least one good thing has come of all this._

xxx

He spent almost two weeks at the rear; he'd needed some surgery for his shoulder after all and despite Doc's patient work around his eye, they'd needed to treat that as well. Now he had been released to go back to the squad – but there was one thing he had to do first.

He paused for a moment at the entrance to the tent. He didn't know how to let the occupant know he was there and after a moment, he'd almost decided to walk away.

"Hello? Is someone there? Please come in."

Caje entered. The inhabitant of the tent was a slight, fiftyish man, with gray hair and warm brown eyes.

"Hello. I'm Paul LeMay. I'm not Jewish, but I wanted to talk to you, if that's all right."

"Quite all right, Paul LeMay who is not Jewish," the chaplain smiled. "Come in, sit down and tell me what I can do to help you."

"Rabbi – is that right?"

"Yes, of course. Pardon me, Private LeMay. I should introduce myself. I'm Rabbi Israel Persky. I'm a Captain, of course, but I don't much care about that." He waved his hand as if brushing away a fly.

"Rabbi Persky, I want to tell you about my friend, Pavel Pascow."


	5. Chapter 5

**Mirror Image**

 _Chapter 5_

An hour later, Caje came out of the chaplain's tent, lighter in heart.

After the scout had talked for a while, Rabbi Persky grew serious. "About your friend, LeMay. How does it help you, or him, to feel guilty because you lived?"

Caje focused on the Bible in his hands, which he'd been given earlier. "I don't know if it's because I lived, or because he died to help me."

"If you had been able to bring him back, would he have lived?"

The scout looked up in surprise. "I'm no medic!"

"Now you are being disingenuous, Private. You may not be a medic, but you have been on the line for a long time, since Omaha Beach, you said. You have seen many men wounded and you know very well when a man is too injured to survive. So would he have made it back?"

"No, sir, probably not."

"Then what he did, saving you – it made his death mean something, no?"

Caje looked up. "Yes, I guess so."

"There is no guessing about it. And you got the film back that you went for?"

"Yes, it was brought back to S2."

"Which saved many lives?"

"I don't know that for a fact, but yes, it could have."

"So, did Private Pascow's saving your life mean nothing?"

"No," Caje said very softly. "No."

"Private," Rabbi Persky said, "in the Talmud there is a saying: 'Whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.' What you do with that is up to you. I do know you will never be able to do whatever it is God has saved you to do for your world if you carry around a burden of guilt that you need not load yourself down with."

The scout nodded thoughtfully, and rose to leave. "Thank you very much, Rabbi. I think I understand a little better now."

"I'm glad to have been able to help."

Caje started to leave, but turned back. "Is there a prayer I can say for him? I mean, a Jewish one? I know lots of Catholic prayers, but that didn't seem appropriate … "

The rabbi gave him a small smile and considered aloud, "Well, not _Kaddish_ and I'd have to teach you Hebrew for ' _El male rachamim_ '. I think the answer is in the Book you already have, Private. The Psalms are common to both our faiths, and they are prayers, after all. Reading Psalm 90 would be very appropriate."

" _Merci_ again, Rabbi Persky."

" _Shalom_ , Private LeMay."

xxx

The army truck pulled up outside the CP in the 361st's bivouac area and a lone soldier leaped out with a familiar grace.

"Hey, pal! Thanks for the lift."

"Any time." The driver sketched a greeting and drove off in a cloud of dust.

"Caje." It was Hanley, who had come out of the CP when he heard the truck pull up.

They exchanged salutes, and then the Lieutenant reached out to shake Caje's hand. Caje took the proffered hand firmly, and met Hanley's eyes. "It's good to be back, sir."

"Good to have you back. The squad is in the third house down on the right."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"I'll take him, sir." It was Doc, a grin on his face. He pounded Caje on the back. "Good to see ya, Caje. You look lots better than the last time I saw you."

"Thanks, Doc."

Doc tilted his head and looked down at the Bible Caje still held in one hand. "Readin' material?"

Caje held it up and looked at it. "I talked to a chaplain – a Rabbi – at Battalion. About Pascow."

Doc waited, listening.

"He helped me see that what Pascow did was right and that his death wasn't meaningless." Caje sighed and then looked at Doc hesitantly. "I decided to forgive myself for being alive."

"Good."

"He said it would be appropriate if I read a Psalm as a prayer – as a remembrance. I thought I would find a private place – if there is such a thing around here – and read Psalm 90. He said it would be the right one."

"I like that." Doc squinted into the setting sun. "You know, I went out with Second Squad. Patched up Pascow a time or two, just like I have you." He looked at Caje. "I'd like to come with ya, if you don't mind."

The scout looked back at Doc, his clear hazel eyes more at peace than the medic had seen them in all the time they had served together. "Yeah, Doc. I'd like that."

"Wait here. I'll get my Bible."

Doc returned, and the two men headed out of camp. "There's some rocks over there; it's a pretty nice place. The Lieutenant set up pickets farther out, so no one should bother us."

"Do you mind if I come?" They turned around in surprise. It was Saunders, holding a small, battered Bible. Caje and Doc shared a look of amazement.

"Sure, Sarge," Caje said after a moment.

They reached the rocks, walking in a companionable silence. There was someone already there. The man turned; it was Levine, in _tallit_ and _yarmulke_. He smiled at them.

"It's all right. You're not interrupting anything." The sergeant looked at Caje. "So. Are you better?"

Caje knew Levine didn't mean his shoulder or his eye. He nodded.

"Good." Levine smiled. He looked at the Bibles they were holding. "Going to remember Pascow?"

The Cajun explained about Rabbi Persky and his suggestion.

"I'll leave you to it. _Shalom_."

Caje watched him go. Then he turned to Doc and Sarge and opened his Bible.

"Why don't we alternate verses, you, then me and then Sarge, " Doc said.

They agreed and Caje began. " _'Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations_.'"

Doc followed. " _'Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God_.'"

"' _Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men'_ ," Saunders read.

The three of them read through the Psalm, and Doc finished. " _'And let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it._ ' Amen."

After a pause, and without a word, the three of them turned to leave – and stopped. The whole squad was standing there: Kirby, Billy, Littlejohn, Kirkbride, even Miller, the new replacement who had come in while Caje was at Battalion, plus Hanley and Brockmeyer. There was silence for a long moment. Not even Kirby dared to break it.

It was Littlejohn who finally stepped forward. "That was real nice, Caje." He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "We missed ya. It's good to have you back."

"Thanks, Littlejohn. I'm glad to BE back." Caje smiled at them all, warmly.

That broke the ice and suddenly the whole squad surrounded Caje, laughing and jostling him. They moved _en masse_ back to the camp, each one trying to outdo the others in telling the scout all the things he'd missed while he was gone.

Saunders stood back and watched them go. _Any time any one of our guys isn't here, it leaves a hole in the rest of us. I'm just glad we didn't really lose him._

He looked up to see Hanley smiling at him. "C'mon, Saunders. Mess tent's been set up. Buy you a sirloin steak!"

"You get us three-day passes to Chicago, Lieutenant?" They laughed together and followed the squad back to camp.

As they left, the laughter faded to silence and there was no sound but the quiet breath of the wind.

\- 30 -


End file.
